Frayed Ends
by Vatrina-Chan
Summary: For Ciel Phantomhive, going mad was a wonderful feeling.  Deliriously wonderful.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own the characters, never will either.

**Warnings:** Gore (YMMV for this one, in my opinion its not bad and it could be _a lot _worse, but more squeamish people may find it gory), insane!Ciel, that kinda says it all. Just know, I warned you.

**A/N:** I know, I know _should _be working on editing the next chapter Phobia, (in my defense, I am almost done with it) but what am I doing? I'm writing a one-shot I didn't even expect to post. But I liked it a lot (should that be concerning?) so I'm posting it anyways. As always R&R is you like, I love and cherish every single one of them.

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><p><strong><span>Frayed Ends<span>**

_**xXx**_

"Reality is always controlled by the people who are most insane."

-Scott Adams, _Dilbert_

_**xXx**_

Going mad was a wonderful feeling. _Deliriously _wonderful.

But even with that said, Ciel never would've described himself as mad or insane particularly. Slightly disturbed or mentally troubled in the slightest degree, perhaps, but never mad. Yet then again, Ciel had never done something...so...so...unsavory? Unsightly? There seemed to be no real word that could manage to described this situation. The word psychotic came to mind, but while more than likely accurate, it seemed much too simple. It was too commonly used. It didn't have enough gusto, enough power to accurately describe the happening at hand. But despite the fact he had never described himself as such, it did seem that mad fit quite nicely.

Ciel couldn't particularly say or even remember what particular events or even feelings had lead to this delicious little descent into madness, of course he knew what the root events were, but not what finally made him snap. But then again, now that he thought about it a little more, perhaps he was not descending into madness, but more of delving deeper into it. After all, can one who struck a deal with the devil be truly considered sane? Ciel opted to say no, they couldn't. And he was most likely right.

Because in reality, his answer _was_ frighteningly true. Ciel was a testament of the fact that one who remains within the devil's grasp will be forever stained by his mark; mentally and physically speaking. And as if to only add to validity of such a theory, was the fact that the evidence proving that something was wrong with him, with his _mind_, was immense. So immense it would be considered frightening for the weak-minded and faint of heart. Though, luckily the earl was not particularly known for his squeamish nature (or lack thereof).

It was the way his hand steadily carved its way through flesh and bone that signified only the beginning of his "symptoms". It was also the way his lips, upturned into a sneer of concentration, remained unquivering as he beheld the sight before him. It was the way his ears, pert and sensitive to the screams and gurgles of sloppish pity, cherished that awful symphony of despair. It was the way his mismatched eyes, cold with bitter mirth, nonchalantly reflected the sight of grotesque nature placed before them. However the most compelling piece evidence against his impending, or rather emerging, insanity was the way his mind processed the situation with glee. For while in most cases he chose a cold, calculating stance when dealing with such filth; this time he had subconsciously opted to take on a satisfying persona of morbid enjoyment.

And the oddest part of it was that Ciel was as composed as usual. Unlike the insane asylum inmates commonly portrayed in books, Ciel was perfectly at ease with the situation. His eyes were not wide and shaky with despair. Nor did his limbs tremble and quake with growing anxiety. His words did not enter into this sweet concoction as half-mumbled sayings with no coherent drift nor as desperate screams ridden with madness. His movements were not jumpy with tension, but rather soft and smooth with placid bliss. Yes, he was perfectly composed, yet completely, perfectly mad at the same time.

Some would say that it was a commonly known fact that it would only be a matter of time before Ciel's fragile little mind eventually broke into ruins. Though with that in mind no one expected that time to drift upon the young earl so soon, so suddenly. For as his hand, which was occupied by a glistening knife of a silver hue, carved intricate patterns of blood and flesh into dingy skin, his mind, slowly but surely, broke into a million little fragments that could and never would be put back together.

With one final flick of the wrist his work was done. The body was mutilated, unrecognizable even. Its eye sockets were torn and empty; its fingertips bare and bloody from frantically scratching the cobblestone floor of the cellar; its mouth agape with silent screams lost to the oppression of death; and its body mutated with cuts that ran deeper than the Thames and flesh twisted more grotesquely than the meat found in a butcher's shop.

To anyone else the sight would've been a horrible, disgusting one and the reasons even more so. Petty some would say. Childish others would mutter. But Ciel didn't care, because in his mind it was just, and whether his opinion was a valid one or not did not currently matter. This man had tried to scam him out of his money; a horrible transgression that earned him the gravest of punishments.

And although on most occasions Ciel choose to take a different, less grotesque, route during the course of such transactions, this time he did not; despite the fact that there was nothing significantly different about this particular circumstance than past ones. Nothing to suggest a reason for the sudden change in routines. However, when considering Ciel Phantomhive is apart of the equation, there is _always _a reason, albeit sometimes not a logical reason, but still a reason nonetheless. And the possible reasons were innumerable.

Maybe the youngling wanted a chance to indulge his more..._sadistic_ tendencies. Or maybe he wanted to taste retribution for himself, instead of letting Sebastian have all the fun. Or even perhaps, and the most likely of them all, the young earl simply wanted to experience why Sebastian so enjoyed hurting people. And enjoy he did.

"My lord, shall we take our leave? I believe your client-ah-I mean former client has learned his lesson adequately enough," Sebastian calmly spoke. As expected of a servant of the Phantomhive manor, he had not been phased one bit by his lord's outlandishly delicious demeanor.

"I suppose," Ciel contemplatively spoke as he poked and prodded at the corpse with his expensive cane in a morbidly curious fashion.

"You suppose? Is there any reason for us to stay any longer than we absolutely must?" The devil inquired, his eyebrows carefully scrunched downwards and his lips overturned into a forced frown.

"No, but its fascinating isn't it? " Ciel spoke in a manner that almost resembled absent mindedness.

"What is fascinating, my lord?" Sebastian asked. His tone suggesting that he could care less.

"The way human bones are so durable during life, yet when on the brink of death they snap like tiny little twigs. How we have skin to protect us, yet when pressed against a knife it is easy to carve and mold to one's will."

"Ah, my lord. I do believe you have begun to lose what little sanity you still have-or more of, had-left," Sebastian commented, though in his opinion he found this new display of momentary-possibly permanent-madness to be quite delicious. Even the smallest taints of sin and insanity left upon his master's soul would make it all the more satisfying in the end.

"I would opt to disagree with you Sebastian. I am perfectly fine. After all, one must be a little bit insane to even hope to survive in this insanity-ridden world," Ciel flippantly said with an indifferent flick of his wrist.

"Quite true. But if I do say so myself, I fear you have become a tad more than a just a little insane. For one who is only slightly tainted with insanity's grasp does not mutilate its victims so," Sebastian coolly replied as he gestured to the body. Ciel shrugged as if he was responding to an innocent, everyday question, not even making an attempt at a verbal retort.

"Though, may I ask, what did my lord expect to gain from this trivial experience? Satisfaction? Dominance over others of your race? Pleasure? Momentary amusement?" Sebastian prodded despite the fact that he already knew the answer.

"Curiosity. Though if you ask me the experience was quite...dull," Ciel answered, finding that now as he reflected back on the occurrence, despite the initial surge of satisfaction, it had been lacking in _something. _However what it was lacking in particular, the earl was not quite sure-

Gusto.

That was it. It was lacking the gusto that his infectious mind oh-so-carnivorously craved for. Which only left Ciel wondering...

"And what would make the experience more...interesting?" Sebastian asked, using the question to gauge how far gone his master was. Although whether he was only half way gone or fully gone did not truly matter to the demon. His job was to protect the soul and the body, never the mind.

"Perhaps carving the flesh of mortals is too predictable, too unsatisfactory. But what about a demon? What does _that _feel like? To be able to mutilate a demon's flesh, if only momentarily, to my own will. All the while knowing you can't do anything about it, hmm?" Ciel asked with a morbid sneer.

"My, my what I cruel master I have. Whatever shall I do with you?" Sebastian hummed, however any pretenses of concern or criticism were lost to the sick, sadistic, possibly masochistic, leer that overtook the demon's features.

"Yes, whatever shall you do with me?" Ciel suggestively smirked as he picked up the previously abandoned knife and began to run its gleaming tip across Sebastian's silky skin in capricious patterns.

And when that smile, that sickeningly feral, that gloriously insane, that terribly wonderful smile-no, not smile, _grin_. When that grin spread across his lips and that gleam of madness became apparent in both his thrumming amethyst eye and his hysterical Sapphire one, blood was spilt. Flesh was cut into and muscles were torn. Bones were bent and cartilage mutilated. Eyes were carved out of their sockets and fingers were cut off. All until nothing was left but oozing blood and carved up flesh revealing grotesque layers of muscle and lipids and tissues.

Ciel leaned back, pulling the knife from its firm place lodged within Sebastian's trachea before idly twirling it round and round his fingers as he examined his masterpiece. It was a wonderful piece of art all in all, the contrasting colors of red and brown blood against the snow white canvas of Sebastian's skin was a wonderful sight.

And the best of was: by morning Sebastian would be fine. And while on most occasions this would greatly annoy Ciel this time he didn't mind, welcomed it even. Because while he was done for now, when that alabaster face was put back together it would be a completely different story.

"My lord, I do fear something inside you has snapped...what a shame."

Yes, madness was indeed a deliriously wonderful feeling. And an even more deliciously wonderful taste to feast upon.


End file.
